No Stops
by terribad
Summary: A heartwarming tragicomedy about a grown man fighting nature's call while tied up in the back of an Equalist truck. Takes place after Episode 9. Requested by ficbending.


_**A/N:** Welp, I sure did write a bunch of words about a grown man pissing himself in the back of a truck as requested by ficbending. If reading niche fetish fanfiction isn't your thing, it might be in your best interest to hit the back button and spare me the whining. But if that IS your thing (or you're just here to see Tarrlok getting humiliated and cry like a bitch), then please do enjoy. :3c_

* * *

**No Stops**

Bump.

Bump.

BUMP.

Tarrlok jostled awake on a cold metal floor, his cheek resting against the smooth, cool surface as vision and consciousness slowly returned to him. Once his eyes adjusted, it took him a few moments to realize where he was - and his current state - hands bound behind his back, ankles fettered as well by the Equalists' bolas. He was laying on his side, numb and thoroughly chilled. How long was he out? And more importantly, where was he being taken to?

He recalls the ticking moments before he blacked out much too clearly. Amon's haunting avoidance of his own bloodbending that should have given him the upper hand under normal circumstances - and had it worked, made him a hero - the firm chokehold on the back of his neck and the forthcoming all-too-swift removal of his bending ability. He had doubts that anyone would have come to his rescue, but wondered to himself - why was he alone back here? Was Amon simply too stupid to check the basement for Korra when he captured the soon to be ex-councilman?

Because if so, OOPS. Someone's gonna have to feed her or they're gonna have to do a search for a whole new Avatar later.

The van shakes and jerks again as it rolls over another bump, rattling loudly. Tarrlok's eyes focus on the ornately-sectioned window in the back, dim light filtering in from outside, wishing he was able to collect himself and gain balance well enough to look through it. However, he was simply too exhausted to even attempt to struggle against his bonds - crestfallen, defeated. But he felt it was unbecoming of him to lay there on his side like a beaten polar dog cringing in the darkness. He was certainly in no condition to fight, but he still had his pride and a garish circus tent of an ego, albeit held up by splinters and discarded toothpicks now.

He would, at the very least, try to keep hold of this pride in the face of Amon the moment he was allowed to see daylight again.

Tarrlok had only the dull roar of the engine and the rubber tires over the rocky mountain road to keep him company here, for the closed-off driver's cabin up front was silent. He looked, too, towards the window from the fore of the vehicle, where he could see the edge of Amon's hood just beyond the glass. He breathed, angrily, feeling his blood pulsing behind his eyes and down his neck as he twisted himself up, up, up-

BA-BUMP.

Just as he was about to squirm himself into a seated position, Amon steers right over a pothole seemingly just to spite him. He hits the floor once more, simmers for a few breaths, and tries again, unimpeded by any sudden changes in his center of gravity as he finally sits upright. The shift in position is nearly dizzying, but arguably better than where he was before. He rests his back on the side of the cabinet, shuddering against icy steel and glaring balefully into the driver's window.

It's not until he's more vertical that he feels a familiar - if very unwanted and poorly-timed - pang in his lower body. He narrows his eyes with annoyance, glancing down at himself as though willing his urges to shut up before glowering back up at where Amon was seated. Unfortunately there was no such thing as hatebending, so Tarrlok couldn't just stare an angry hole into the back of Amon's head and end it there.

Well.

One could argue that firebending is a form of hatebending depending on who's being asked, but that's beside the point (and Amon would have taken that away, too).

Staring at the back of Amon's hood certainly wasn't going to do anything, and it took a few minutes for Tarrlok to realize this before he cast his gaze at the floor in resignation. He _really_ couldn't do anything about it, and on top of that, nature's call was beckoning him at the worst possible time. Had he known holding it in when he first caught sight of the Equalists' headman himself in the stairwell would bite him in the ass later, he would've gone when he had the chance. But noooo, he had to go into that dingy basement to yell at Korra for _his_ stupid mistakes before relieving himself after the trip back to the mountains. _Idiot._

He swallowed. This was going to be a very long drive, but he would relish being thrown into a cell afterwards just to empty his bladder in relative privacy. Tarrlok was a grown man, he could keep control of himself just fine no matter how uncomfortable it felt - or so he thought.

The minutes ticked by at an agonizingly slow rate, and the bumpy mountain road didn't seem to end nor did it transition to the smooth asphalt of Republic City's streets yet. How far from the city were they? With every stupid little rock or pit Amon drove over, the pressure in his body grew.

"...Pull over," he groaned, voice creaking and low. "You son of a bitch, pull over."

He knew Amon couldn't hear him. His face crinkled in frustration, and he raised his voice to a demanding bellow. "Pull over!"

Murmured conversation could be heard coming from the front between Amon and an unseen passenger, followed by silence again. The van showed no sign of stopping. Tarrlok gritted his teeth, scooting towards the front and banging his shoulder on the wall directly behind the driver's seat. "Didn't you hear me? Pull over now!"

Bang bang bang. He was starting to become sore, and if anything, his efforts likely would only yield a bruise on his arm.

Tarrlok could hear laughter up front from both occupants, and the van continued on. He swore under his breath, clenching his knees together as a drop of sweat rolled down from his temple. Icy blue eyes studied the driver's window again, struggling to focus on anything but the building strain in his lower regions.

Breathing. He would focus on his breathing. Try to meditate, like someone who isn't so completely spiritually bankrupt would do. Divert all attention to his lungs and not his-

Amon drives over another large pothole, and Tarrlok's concentration breaks. By now, he is profoundly frustrated by this whole ordeal, and holding it in is starting to become painful. He squeezes his legs together harder, curling into himself. He wondered if Korra had to endure the same thing, between the drive and being thrown into that box overnight. For what was certainly not the first time that day, he felt a twinge of guilt. Yeah, he didn't exactly think ANYTHING through... not until he had the time to sit down and assess things in hindsight, even with the nagging sensation at the back of his mind.

"Pull over... please," he begged, desperately. "I have to... relieve myself. Please, I promise I won't try to escape..." Nothing, only a condescending laugh muffled by the steel between them. He tries to focus on his breathing again, but it's too distracting. He bares his teeth and closes his eyes, brows furrowing as it became more and more difficult the longer he waited.

One more time.

Just one more, he'd try asking Amon to stop for him and save him the embarrassment of ruining a perfectly good pair of pants. He thrashed lamely against the wall, leaning against it when hitting his shoulder proved to hurt too much. "You bastard, pull over now! I need to- to-"

There was a sudden halt in his speech, as though an unseen force cut him off...

"We're not stupid!" An unfamiliar voice retorted, but Tarrlok couldn't respond. It was already too late; he could already feel the warmth creeping down his leg and soaking into the surrounding fabric, eventually pooling around his bottom as he felt himself slowly draining out onto the floor. He groaned like a dying animal and went stiff, cursing internally for wetting his pants like a small child who couldn't grasp the basics of bodily control as his face turned a deep, hot red.

Tarrlok's eyes watered, he choked back a sob. This wasn't how it was supposed to go, and even though he could relax now it was no comfort at all for what he had done. In one day he had been reduced from one of Republic City's best waterbenders to something even less than a man who couldn't even control his own body anymore, much less the element he once commanded so well. He began to cry in silence, drowning in his own embarrassment and finally granting Amon some peace.

Up in the passenger seat, the Lieutenant gave Amon a look as he thoughtfully stroked his chin, noting the recent lack of noise from the back of the van. "You know, Amon, I think we should've pulled over. It really sounded like he had to-"

The man beside him held up a hand.

"It's not my problem," Amon turned to his second-in-command, the masked visage expressionless as always. "I'm not the one that's cleaning it up."

_~Fin~_


End file.
